Crossing the Line
by Ethanamide
Summary: Belated Halloween Sherlolly One-Shot: The voids between worlds are least on Halloween, who does Sherlock visit at the graveyard, and what comes of it?


Crossing the Line

Moderately belated Halloween one-shot, set the Halloween before the Christmas of series 3, enjoy!

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><p>To find Sherlock Holmes in a graveyard on Halloween was perhaps not in itself a strange concept, but Sherlock Holmes in a graveyard, sitting in a camping chair drinking tea would have been quite peculiar to anyone who happened to pass by. It was, however, how he spent every Halloween, as it was the time of year where the void between worlds was at its thinnest and some may pass over for a brief period. It was a tradition built over many years, whereby around 6 pm, when it was fully dark, Mycroft would appear, have a brief conversation with the spectre at the gravestone and make his way back to find somewhere else to start a war. Then around 9 pm Sherlock would arrive, flask of tea and camping chair, and spend the next few hours mocking Mycroft and running through his thoughts with someone he missed dearly: his Nan.<p>

When she was alive, the two used to spend hours scheming ways to most annoy Mycroft, as Nan disliked the older sibling's haughtiness as much as he did. Any holiday was a good excuse to bring the pompousness down a peg or two as any argument descended into his mother telling her own mother to behave, which always resulted in gin, giggles or both. Sherlock smiled fondly at the memory as he waited for the older lady to reappear, speaking to spirits on Halloween was like having a terrible internet connection, every now and again they'd disappear and then reappear a couple of minutes later, as if someone had switched the system off and on again.

Unfortunately this year involved telling Nan about Magnussen- if he was to join her in less than a year's time then it would be good to give her a little notice. He began with his return from Serbia, John's wedding, the pregnancy, his best man's speech, solving the murder, all the good things. The older lady nodded for him to continue, knowing something was troubling him. He continued with an explanation of the Magnussen case, what he knew and the high probability of something bad resulting from what he felt he needed to do for John, Mary and their unborn child. Nan perched on top of her gravestone and sighed,

"You're in quite a pickle, aren't you my dear?" She said softly, in a comforting way special to one's grandparents. Sherlock merely nodded, not looking up from his tea cup.

"There's not really any choice in this Nan, he owns many newspapers. Even if there's not hard evidence, all he needs to do is put it in print and it becomes as good as fact anyway. He needs to be eradicated. I've never hated anyone as much as I do him Nan, he's vile. They can't lock me up so I'll be exiled, and there's work to do in Serbia from before that was almost certainly involve me joining you," Sherlock ranted, breaking the heavy silence. He put his tea cup down and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Nan smiled down sadly at her grandson, he was willing to risk his life for his best-friend, and if that wasn't sentiment she didn't know what was. It was just a shame that he'd found people accepting of him so late on in life, and with only Mycroft as a role model she wasn't at all surprised when he'd ended up an addict, whether it be for drugs or 'brain-work'. She decided to try and change the subject, it wasn't good to dwell on death for too long.

"I met a friend of yours last year," Nan said, a small smile playing about her lips.

"Who?" He asked, baffled by the concept that anyone would have come along to this exact spot at the correct time. The look on her face told him all he needed to know.

"How is she?" Nan asked, mock-innocently, she was the only person he would tolerate teasing him about his love-life, as there was no underlying pressure emanating out in waves (like it did from his mother on most issues…)

"She was engaged, the man's an idiot, safe, but an idiot. She didn't take too kindly to events for the current case." Sherlock replied, wincing at the memory of her slaps.

"She's pissed you relapsed." Nan said shortly, both eyebrows raised.

"Ever so eloquent Nan. Yes, to put it bluntly. I don't think she was overly impressed with Janine either…" He grimaced, feeling the older lady's unimpressed expression bearing down on him.

"I'm not surprised! Bit much for anyone to take in, especially if you hadn't forewarned her." Nan interrupted, berating him in a fashion no one else would dare to.

"I tried to drop hints Nan, I couldn't _say_ anything," He tried to defend his actions, but the words sounded weak even to his ears. He sighed and poured some more tea from his flask into the china cup that made the whole scene look like something out of a Tim Burton film. "Why was she here, anyway?" He mumbled, convinced his brother may have a lot to do with it.

"I came to see you," Came the gentle female voice he would recognise anywhere. "Well, the first year I came to see you, then I met Nan completely by chance," Molly continued setting up her camping chair and getting a flask of hot chocolate out of her bag.

"Then I invited her back the following year, and we spent a good few hours laughing at you, so I decided she should come back this year." Nan grinned, her motives about as transparent as her spectral self. Sherlock rolled his eyes, he should have expected it she was far too excited to see him. The three spent a few minutes in comfortable silence, while Molly settled herself and warmed up with her hot chocolate and Sherlock glared at his Nan, who gave him her most innocent smile- which didn't quite meet her twinkling eyes. The two women began gossiping, Molly filled Nan in on how Sherlock was shot, and all the small things both him and Mycroft had neglected to tell her. He sat quietly, sipping his tea and observing the easy familiarity of the two women with him. After about half an hour of inane chatter, Sherlock decided he ought to properly broach the subject of his Christmas plan before the connection could cut out for the final time.

He shut his eyes for a moment, before putting his tea cup on its saucer with enough force to break the conversation he'd ceased listening to many minutes ago. He relayed his plan, precisely and with enough conviction that both women would know better than to try and talk him out of it. He included the necessary background to the story so there may be more chance of Molly forgiving him eventually, although she hadn't said a word to him since she'd arrived, which in itself spoke volumes.

"Sounds like you don't have much of a choice William." Was Nan's response to the predicament, she was the only person he'd allow to use his given name. John didn't know it, and Molly had never dared use it after she'd found out what his full name was from his medical records.

"Is there nothing Mycroft can do?" Molly asked, a slight waver in her voice betraying her fear at the situation likely to unfold soon. Before Sherlock could answer, Nan butted in,

"That man is the only one to blame for the current situation, he knew about this years ago and never bothered to do anything about it until the cretin had so many fingers in pies that there wasn't much anyone could do! Then leaves his little brother to do the reckless remaining option. I told him earlier my thoughts on the matter." Nan was not impressed. Her tone was not that of a happy woman, and if previous occasions Mycroft had been scalded by Nan were anything to go by, there would be a family Christmas do this year, and Mycroft would take a whole 3 days off. He may even buy presents. Sherlock smirked at the thought, his brother may be the British Government, but he was still answerable to an old lady's ghost.

"As true as that may be Nan, it is the only option remaining. He prays on people's weaknesses, and I'd rather die than see him touch certain people." Sherlock spat,

"William," Nan warned, she knew he was hiding something, and it would be better for all involved at this point if he didn't.

"In short, if he ever came near you, Molly I'd have to kill him anyway, so really I'm just getting it out of the way early." Sherlock explained bluntly, causing his Nan to facepalm, and Molly to look very confused. "He's a foul man, I've met plenty of dislikeable people in my life, but he's the only one who makes my skin crawl. If he ever got a sniff of how much you matter I can guarantee he'd be on your doorstep within hours of the news arriving. I don't even want to think about what he'd do to you to get to me, and in turn Mycroft."

Molly sat bolt upright, clutching her hot chocolate to her chest. When he'd told her that she was the one who mattered most, she'd assumed he was just saying that to make sure she helped him.

"See! I told you she wouldn't believe me if I told her!" Sherlock exclaimed, glaring at his Nan, who simply laughed softly and shook her head. They had discussed the person only referred to as 'Sherlock's friend' a few times over the years, with Sherlock being on the receiving end of a particularly harsh telling off the year after _that_ Christmas. It had been on Nan's advice that he'd said those things to her before she left, even though he knew he'd already done enough damage that she may never believe it.

"You're saying I mean as much to you as John does to Mary?" Molly asked, her voice coming out not far off a squeak. Nan sat nodding in her peripheral vision, as she waited for Sherlock's reply- she wasn't entirely sure she would get one.

"I'm not good for you Molly." Came the answer, short and sad, with echoes of regret.

"I hate to break up this little moment, but I get the feeling I'm not going to be here much longer. It was lovely to speak with the both of you- I look forward to seeing at least three of you next year." Nan waved as she disappeared into the ether, leaving both Sherlock and Molly in a shocked and moderately awkward silence. Molly was the one to break it, putting the lid back on her flask and packing up her camping chair, she wasn't going to wait around to be broken again. Sherlock's lack of movement towards her departure only reinforced he resolve to walk away while she still could. She believed he cared, but couldn't for one moment entertain the possibility of herself coming before John, let alone with the strength that accompanied newlyweds. She walked home briskly, keeping her head down and trying to move her thoughts away from Sherlock. Perhaps she should have worked tonight and seen Nan earlier, there was nothing quite like identifying the cause of death for a zombie nun or traffic-cone-man.

Molly opened the door to her flat, kicked off her shoes and dumped the things she was carrying on the floor. All she wanted was to go to sleep now, and forget that the last 10 minutes at the graveyard ever happened. She was sure that's what he was doing.

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><p>It was gone 3 am when an almighty crash in her hallway woke Molly with a start. There were two options, Sherlock was here or she was about to be burgled. At the moment, she honestly thought she'd prefer the latter. She sighed and waited for any of the characteristic noises that accompanied Sherlock's visits, and sure enough she heard his distinct baritone swearing like a sailor before another thud reverberated through the walls. She poked her head around her bedroom door to see the consulting detective spread eagled on the floor, one foot tangled in her scarf and the other on top of the now horizontal camping chair.<p>

"Your new burglary defence system?" Sherlock asked, voice muffled by the fluffy orange carpet. Molly giggled in response, bending down to help the curly-haired man untangle himself.

"Why?" Molly asked after she'd found her voice and Sherlock had found his feet. He didn't reply initially, he took her hand and led her into the bedroom, motioning for her to get comfortable under the duvet. He perched himself on the side of the bed next to her,

"If these are to be my last 8 weeks before exile back to that wasteland, I'd like to spend them with you if you'll have me." He said softly, staring at his hands, as if expecting to be asked to leave. Molly took one of his hands in hers and stroked his knuckles with her thumb.

"Only if you promise to be buried on Halloween so we can watch Nan spend the whole ceremony telling Mycroft off," She smiled up at him, tears in her eyes.

"Already in place," He affirmed, cupping her face with his hands and kissing her forehead.

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><p>Sherlock always kept his promises to his Nan, and the next Halloween was no exception. A party of four made their way across the well-worn path towards the familiar head stone, a curly haired man, his pregnant wife and their raucous twins about to make a dead lady's day.<p> 


End file.
